


Celibacy for You and Me

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Empathy, Empathy, Put Yourself in the Place of Me [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Acephobia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Empath Stiles Stilinski, Grinding, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Phone Sex, Sexual Frustration, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: “So we agree. Eighteen.”“It’s not that far away, really.”“It’s what’s legal.”“Your dad won’t shoot me if you’re eighteen.”“No one will be weird about it if I’m eighteen.”“Less than two years.”“Good.”“Good.”“Good” would not be a word that either of them used to describe their self imposed celibacy ever again.





	Celibacy for You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> It's real cute how it took me 5 months to write the first 51k of this series and then 7 months to write the last 9k. Writing is fake y'all. 
> 
> Anyway TECHNICALLY I still did it in under a year because Blue Swede's anniversary isn't until tomorrow, high fives all around for this bitch!!

“So we agree. Eighteen.”

“It’s not that far away, really.”

“It’s what’s legal.”

“Your dad won’t shoot me if you’re eighteen.”

“No one will be weird about it if I’m eighteen.”

“Less than two years.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

* * *

“Good” would not be a word that either of them used to describe their self imposed celibacy ever again.

* * *

It wasn’t an issue at first. In the beginning, most of Stiles’ energy was still taken up by trying to figure out his projective empathy. After a long day of trying not to give the entire DMV an anxiety attack while getting his license, all he wanted was to pull Peter into a kiss before shoving him onto the couch to fall asleep on top of him- fully clothed.

Stiles’ didn’t want anything else. He didn’t need anything else, and neither did Peter, who was just happy to be within scenting distance of Stiles.

But nothing stays the same for long, and as less of Stiles’ attention was needed to control his empathy, more of his attention was dragged to other things.

Like Peter’s lips.

And Peter’s neck.

And Peter’s arms, and his abs, and his ass, and just how deep his v-necks were-

Stiles found himself looking at the calendar when school started again. 19 months. There were 19 months until his 18th birthday, and Stiles felt the looming laughter of fate that comes when you’ve made a huge mistake at your own expense.

He honestly tried not to think about it. Beyond his lazy, half-awake morning stroke offs he hadn’t really thought about sex since the Jackson incident. Despite his efforts it was nearly all he could think about now.

Stiles had never been so keenly aware of just how much sex was everywhere, all the time.

In movies.

In books.

In conversation.

… In his bedroom when he wasn’t there.

As soon as Stiles and Cora walked into the house, Stiles could feel the wave of lust. He was well practiced at ignoring things like that, so it wasn’t until Cora stopped that he paid attention. She carefully placed down the bag of burgers they’d gone to get. She sniffed, and then looked at Stiles.

“Jizz.”

Stiles’ brain blanked out for a moment.

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

“I smell jizz. Allison must have finally bagged ‘em.”

 _‘Em’_ being Scott and Isaac. Isaac didn’t have a room at the Hale’s. He was living with Scott. Which meant-

 _“No,”_ Stiles hissed, running to his room in horror. He burst into the room, heedless of what scene he might encounter.

… It wasn’t as bad as it might have been, but certainly worse than he wished.

Some shirts were missing, and Stiles gave Allison 10/10 on her bra aesthetic, but there was nothing Stiles might have had to, under more professional circumstances, pay to see.

Scott was sitting dazed and sheepish by Allison, while Isaac was frozen like a deer in headlights with his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, mid-wiggle.

Allison cringed.

Stiles folded his arms.

“... We wanted to look at your comics,” Scott said after the longest, most awkward pause. “We got distracted.” There was another pause. “... Can I borrow some pants?”

Stiles rubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

* * *

So, Allison, Scott, and Isaac were dating.

When word got around the GSA, Finstock was thrilled.

“Polyamory, Stilinski!” he yelled, clapping Stiles on the back. “It’s another flavor for the collection! We’ve got lesbians and gays and bis and transes and panses-”

“That’s not- wait, we don’t have anyone who’s pan,” Stiles said, trying not to be steamrolled by Finstock.

 _“I’m_ pan! We need some asexuals in here, we’re gonna have a hell of a Whitman’s Sampler!”

“That’s- collection’s not really the goal of a GSA, you know,” Stiles tried again, “since we’re people? Not candy?”

Finstock flapped a hand carelessly and nearly smacked a passing student.

“You don’t think there’s already asexual people in this school, Stilinski? Of course there are. If we get them to join our club, that means we’ve created an environment where they feel safe enough to come out. Which _is_ the goal of the GSA. The more flavors we have, the better we’re doing at providing a safe environment where they don’t have to pretend to be shitty Hershey’s.”

He gripped Stiles’ shoulder and shook him a little in that way that coaches seem to think is supportive.

“Besides, if we _were_ candy, I’d be a whole damn truffle bar, not one of those awful coconut clusters you find in Whitman’s.”

He wandered off after that, leaving Stiles a little blown.

More flavors.

For once, Finstock actually made sense.

Stiles felt ashamed that the GSA had made no effort to reach out to asexual students. He should have known better. Bill didn’t talk about it often, but his experience as an asexual teen in the 90’s had been a very lonely one. Things could be better. They _should_ be better. Stiles sent out a group text asking everyone available to meet at the Hales that afternoon.

He already had the poster board and paint markers out when people started to arrive. He’d talked to as many alliance members as he could during school, but a few people were still clueless as to why they were meeting up, and eyed the paints with curiosity.

Once everyone who could come was there, Stiles got their attention and said, “I realized today that we’ve been pretty shitty at encouraging people on the ace spectrum to join the GSA, so I want to make some signs to let them know they’re welcome. Maybe stuff like, ‘The GSA thinks Aces are Ace’ with our meeting times listed.”

“Or we could _not_ ruin a perfectly good idea with puns,” Lydia said dryly. “Any other suggestions?” she asked the group.

“We could do something catchy that rhymes,” Allison said. “Space, lace, base, case-”

“Excuse me,” a junior named Candy spoke up sharply. “I’m not comfortable with aces being included in my LGB space. I think this should be put to a vote before it’s continued. ”

Stiles, who had been caught up in moving his new idea forward, paused to focus on Candy. Indignant anger rolled off of her, almost immediately overwhelmed by the outrage exploding from Cora.

Eager to both prevent Cora from assaulting Candy in a misplaced defense of Bill, and to shutdown any hint aphobia in the group, he firmly said, “No. This isn’t your LGB space, and I hope you don’t think anyone missed you dropping the T. This is the GSA, the Gay-Straight Alliance. We accept all identities, including the ones you don’t like, and the straight people who support us. If you have a problem with trans people or people on the ace spectrum, then this isn’t the club for you.”

Candy pinched her lips together before turning on her heel and stalking out of the house alone.

Peter grabbed Cora when she tried to follow and hauled her back into the kitchen long enough for Lydia to give her a stern look that kept her in place.

There was a beat of awkward silence around the room as everyone processed what had just happened, and then- “The GSA is an Ace Place,” piped up Allison again. “Or, ‘We’d love to see your Ace Face in the GSA.”

More suggestions came after that, all of them equally terrible. Stiles started passing around the paints, and the meeting moved on.

Later that night, after everyone was gone, Stiles cuddled up to Peter.

“Why do people have to be like that,” he wondered. “What turns someone into an exclusionist?”

Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around Stiles as they slumped into the corner of the couch.

“Privilege. Someone who’s never had to question the existence of their sexual attraction or gender identity refuses to believe that others might have an experience that’s different from theirs and boom, an exclusionist is born. It’s the same reason every terrible bigoted opinion exists.”

Stiles frowned, flipping over and burrowing his face into Peter’s chest, pushing him down so they were laying together. Stiles muttered a muffled “that’s dumb,” but then went quiet, just relaxing into Peter’s hold.

Stiles’ mind wandered, wondering if the last few months of his life could be compared to the experience of an asexual person in any way. It didn’t take long for him to decide that no, it couldn’t. He hadn’t had a lack of sexual attraction, just a lack of desire to act on it. What would that be? Just not-as-horny, maybe. Sexual drive as opposed to sexual attraction.

Peter’s hand stroked up and down his back, occasionally catching on the hem of his shirt and brushing against the skin at his waist. Stiles shivered a little, tightening his hold on Peter. He smelled so good. He snuggled up a little further, gliding his nose and lips across the skin bared by Peter’s v-neck.

He was so _warm._ Stiles always wanted to get closer. He absently considered asking Peter to take his shirt off. Maybe Stiles could get underneath him and Peter could cover him up like a blanket. Stiles liked it when they kissed like that, maybe they could make out for a while. Maybe the same hand Peter had on his back would go other places-

Stiles’ thoughts were abruptly cut off by a rumbling in Peter’s chest.

“As delicious as you smell, darling, I think it’s time for bed.”

Stiles’ face went a little pink as he realized he’d been two steps away from a full on fantasy. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Peter got up from the couch without letting go of Stiles, swinging him up into his arms instead. He eased open Stiles’ door when they got to his room and let him down straight on to his bed. As soon as he was out of his arms, Peter leaned over and kissed Stiles goodnight, lips lingering perhaps a moment longer than usual.

“Sleep well sweetheart,” he said quietly, the hint of a smirk resting in the corner of his mouth, and then excused himself from the room. Stiles watched him leave and then let his head flump back onto his pillow. He thoughtfully considered his semi, and Peter’s smile.

_Sleep well._

He could do that.

* * *

Stiles wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the reappearance of his libido. When he started school again in the fall, Peter was slightly more bothered than usual by the scents that covered him at the end of the day. Slightly.

“I’m home! Hey- what- Pe- ohmyg-” Stiles couldn’t quite finish his sentence due to Peter aggressively rubbing his cheek against Stiles, running his hands up and down Stiles’ arms, and grabbing Stiles’ hands to place them around his own waist.

“I can barely even smell me on you,” he grumbled. “Do you purposely rub up against every sweaty brat at that school?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and started slowly steering them toward his bedroom to dump his backpack.

“The hallways get pretty packed during passing periods, Peter. If I don’t want to be late for every class then I have to shove my way through like everyone else.”

Peter frowned where his face was tucked into Stiles’ neck.

“Have you given any thought to homeschooling?”

Stiles snorted a laugh, using his foot to push open the door to his room.

“I’m not going to do homeschool, babe.” He managed to drop his backpack to the floor without completely letting go of Peter, and then tipped them both over onto his bed. “You’ll just have to scent mark me so thoroughly that it can’t be covered up,” he finished with a smirk.

Peter couldn’t stop the grin on his face, still hidden on Stiles’ skin.

“Hm, I suppose I could do that,” he mused, rolling them so that they were on their sides, brushing his lips up the column of Stiles’ neck. Stiles moaned a little and tipped his head to expose more skin, something Peter gladly took advantage of by kissing up his throat until he reached Stiles’ mouth. Stiles immediately deepened the kiss, licking Peter’s bottom lip before diving in.

They’d kissed before, obviously, but this was different. This was faster, more desperate, _hungrier._

Peter growled into the kiss, bringing a hand up to Stiles’ jaw to hold him in place as he brought their bodies closer together. His other hand stroked down Stiles’ side to spread his scent further, pausing for a moment on the bare strip of skin between Stiles’ shirt and waistband.

Peter reveled in the fact that they were doing this in Stiles’ bed; that Stiles would sleep in it tonight, wrapped up in the scent of both of them, before leaving in the morning still carrying proof that they belonged together.

He inhaled deeply. His natural scent mixed in with Stiles’; Stiles’ breath, his sweat, his pre-come. He rocked his hips forward, feeling an answering hardness. His wolf surged to the surface, wanting to pin Stiles beneath him and take, claim, _be claimed-_

Peter pulled his head back, taking deep breaths, and deliberately moved their hips apart.

“Fuck. Shit. _Fuck.”_

Stiles’ kiss reddened lips and dazed expression just made him look all the more delectable, only slightly marred by the concerned confusion on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s just- a bit too much for me, if we’re sticking to schedule,” Peter answered tightly, trying to will down his cock and failing miserably.

Stiles’ eyes widened.

“Oh! Oh. We’re doing that, aren’t we. Right.”

“Right,” Peter sighed, rolling onto his back and tugging Stiles onto his chest for a snuggle so he wouldn’t feel abandoned. He supposed he was officially at the end of his grace period, in terms of sexual frustration. He thought about what Miss Nowak said about the bond between empath and mute being exactly what’s needed when it’s needed. If Stiles was ready-

No. They’d already spoken about it and agreed. Eighteen.

Peter’s hand drifted unthinkingly up and and down Stiles’ back, pulling a slight shiver from him. Peter’s mind immediately turned to other ways he might elicit that reaction-

He cut off his thoughts with another sigh.

Eighteen.

* * *

Peter was objectively attractive. Stiles knew this. Even at 12 years old, he’d known that Peter had model-like good looks. His smile, sharp blue eyes, and cut jaw were the kind of thing that made people stare for a moment and stumble.

He knew it. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Peter is so attractive that he literally makes people trip. Facts.

So it frustrated him that all of the sudden _now_ all those stares and stumbles were starting to bother him.

He glared at the concessions employee whose mouth was hanging open as her eyes dipped down to Peter’s pecs.

“I’ll take some Red Vines too,” Stiles said loudly, breaking her concentration.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she said, still distracted. “Your total is $16.32.”

Peter handed over his card and Stiles scooted a little closer. He wasn’t prepared to be so obvious about his jealousy that he’d put an arm around Peter, but it wouldn’t hurt to just… suggest.

The cashier finally busied herself with getting the popcorn and snacks, and Peter glanced over at Stiles, an amused hint to his smile.

“Shut up,” Stiles said, cheeks pinking. He knew he was being possessive. He also wasn’t gonna do anything to stop it.

“Here you go!” the cashier said brightly. “I just have to say, it’s so sweet to see you taking your neph-”

“BYE,” Stiles said bluntly, and hooked his arm around Peter’s waist, pulling him away. Fuck it, he was going to be as obvious as possible.

Peter chuckled a little on their way into the darkened theater. They chose a seat near the back, as usual, to be further away from the speakers for Peter, and further away from the emotional reactions of the other viewers for Stiles.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Peter soothed in a whisper as the previews played.

“ _Nephew_ ,” Stiles scoffed. “I do _not_ look young enough to be your nephew. Come on!”

Peter rubbed calming circles on the back of Stiles’ hand with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth to brush a kiss over his knuckles.

“Regardless of how young you _look_ , I do in fact have a nephew even older than you,” Peter pointed out. “And to be fair, thinking that I’m your uncle taking you out to see a movie is probably one of the kinder assumptions she could make. At least she doesn’t think I’m grooming a poor, innocent sixteen-”

Stiles snorted.

_“Innocent.”_

“Hush,” Peter continued with a smile. “I’m just saying that there are worse assumptions that people could make.”

Stiles frowned, still disgruntled.

“Do you think I’d look older if I grew a beard?”

“I’ve seen you pre-shave, Stiles. Any beard you can grow is going to need to be supplemented heavily with stage makeup.”

Stiles frowned deeper and pulled his and Peter’s joined hands into his own lap, playing with their fingers as the movie started.

It was a so-so action movie; obnoxiously loud and bright when it wasn’t too dark to tell what was happening on screen. It was a Thanksgiving weekend feast of punches and explosions to tempt the holiday crowds. Judging by the mostly empty theater, it hadn’t been successful. Eventually, inevitably, Stiles started fidgeting when his attention wandered.

Keeping their fingers laced, he brought their hands up to his mouth, brushing his lips over Peter’s knuckles over and over again. His lips tapped and dragged and after a while, without really thinking about the fact that the knuckle didn’t actually belong to him, Stiles stuck one in his mouth and absently sucked on it.

A sharp breath next to him caught his attention, and Stiles suddenly realized what he was doing. With a mischievous grin, he did it again.

Peter sat stiff and straight in the seat next to him, making no move to retrieve his hand, and also no pretence about even trying to watch the movie. His eyes were glued on Stiles now.

Stiles stared right back at him, letting his mouth drift along the skin, eventually finding a fingertip. He delicately lifted it into his mouth with the tip of his tongue, letting his teeth brush over it ever so slightly before closing his lips around it.

He let his tongue explore for a moment, wrapping around the finger and caressing it. Even with his dull human eyes in the dark theater, Stiles could see that Peter’s pupils were blown, but he maintained an iron strong grip on his willpower- right up until Stiles hollowed his cheeks, and sucked.

A quiet growl tore itself from Peter’s chest and he leaned forward, pulling his hand from Stiles’ mouth so he could grab his head firmly and bring their mouths together.

Peter’s tongue was possessive in Stiles’ mouth, marking out its territory and claiming every inch as his own. Stiles moaned and Peter rumbled in return, using his grip on Stiles to tilt him so that Peter could kiss more deeply.

Eventually Stiles had to turn away slightly, panting for air and trying to keep his tiny desperate sounds trapped in his throat. Peter didn’t move away, only downward, dragging his lips and tongue over Stiles’ chin and then his throat. He kissed and nipped and sucked, making Stiles’ hips jerk slightly in response.  

Stiles brought a hand up into Peter’s hair, gripping tightly and pressing him harder into his throat, something Peter was only too willing to do. The feeling of Peter’s desire was breaking through his usual silence, washing over Stiles quietly but potently, doing nothing to quell his own. The armrest between them was roughly pushed away and Peter leaned more heavily into Stiles, pressing him back. One of Stiles’ hands snuck up the back of Peter’s shirt, pulling him closer, tighter, hotter-

**_KABOOM!!_ **

_“Aieeeee!! Jacobson! Nooooo!!!”_

A particularly violent explosion finally startled them apart, Peter’s distraction truly getting the best of him as he flashed a fang at the movie screen and snarled. When he suddenly remembered where they were and what they were doing he stopped breathing for a second, only to let out a gust of a sigh.

He glanced back at Stiles who looked disheveled and thrilled about it. Peter couldn’t help the crooked smile growing on his face, until he noticed the deep purple marks on Stiles’ neck.

“Shit.”

Stiles grinned even bigger, bringing a hand up to press at the tender spots on his neck. Peter sighed again. There was nothing they could do about it now. They settled back in to watch the movie, snuggled closer this time without the armrest between them.

When the movie was over and Peter finally got a look at the love bites in the light of the lobby, he grimaced again.

“Maybe… maybe borrow some of Lydia’s concealer before you go to dinner with your dad tomorrow,” he suggested halfheartedly.

Stiles said nothing and just pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s lips before they headed out to the parking lot, making a slight detour past concessions where Stiles was sure to pointedly grin at their cashier.

When they arrived home, Savage Grandma took one look at Stiles and absolutely lost it. She was nearly crying with laughter, bent double, supporting herself with one hand on the back of the couch.

“Was there a complimentary _hoover_ service that came with the movie?” she gasped out, wiping away a stray tear of mirth. “Jesus Christ, Peter, he looks like you mauled him!”

“Yes, I’m aware, mother,” Peter said dryly as he hung up his jacket. Stiles stood over by the entryway mirror, checking out the hickies.

“She’s right,” he said, looking closely at the spots on his throat. “I don’t think Lydia’s concealer would even work on these. Maybe if I had one of those specialty pastes they make for covering up tattoos…” He frowned thoughtfully.

“Ohhh, Stiles, don’t you have dinner with your dad tomorrow?” Grandma said gleefully. “Peter, you better start running now. If you hit the state line before midnight there’s a chance you might live out the week before he finds you.”

“Do I get so little sympathy for my expected murder?” he asked mournfully even as he went to stand behind Stiles in front of the mirror, running a finger over his handiwork again. He tried not to indulge his possessive side too often, but he couldn’t deny the instinctive satisfaction he felt at the blatantly visible marks.

Stiles quirked a little grin, feeling a whisper of how pleased Peter was with the marks despite the genuine trepidation he had at the prospect of John seeing what he’d done.

“There there, dear,” Stiles said, patting Peter’s hand. “I’ll protect you from the big bad sheriff.”

Peter hid his own grin as he bent down to brush a kiss over one of the marks.

“My hero,” he murmured.

The next night, as he arrived at his father’s house, Stiles couldn’t help but feel some of that same trepidation. He didn’t really think his father would do anything rash- he certainly wouldn’t storm over there with a gun or anything as foolish as that. But that didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t in for a lecture.  

He let himself into the house, calling out a greeting.

“I’m already in the kitchen! The grill is ready for the steaks!” his dad called back.

So Stiles may have swung by the grocery store for a little bribery. Sue him.

Stiles had made no effort to cover up the love bites, so they were immediately visible when he entered the room. John’s eyes went straight to the marks, and his mouth dropped open.

“Did someone try to strangle you?” he asked, only half joking.

“No. Unless you count being strangled by my own promise of celibacy until I turn eighteen,” Stiles said, joking even less than his father. John just shook his head and sighed.

“If that’s going to be a regular occurance, you better invest in some stage makeup or come up with a good cover story.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against the salad bowl thoughtfully.

“Underground MMA fighter?”

“I said a _good_ cover story, Stiles,” John said.

The rest of their dinner conversation covered increasingly unlikely reasons that Stiles might be covered in marks (“neck tattoo gone wrong” “leech accident” “Mr. Harris finally snapped and tried to kill me”), school, and work.

By the end of the meal, John still hadn’t brought up the obvious actual cause of the hickies.

“So… are you mad?” Stiles ventured eventually. “Should I tell Peter to start heading for the border?”

John rolled his eyes with a smile.

“To be honest, Stiles, I’m just happy you’re doing something so normal for teenagers. Even if your relationship with Peter is unconventional, you’re still acting the way a 16 year old should.”

“17 in 4 months,” Stiles reminded him. “Actually, I turn 18 in just 16 months. Really what’s the point in wait-”

John cut him off, pointing a fork at him.

“And also just 200 months past infancy. Wait the 16 months, Stiles. I promise you’ll survive.”

Stiles wasn’t so sure, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

“I wanna fuck,” Stiles announced one day mid-April.

“Jesus _Christ,_ Stiles!” Scott started to complain, but Stiles cut him off.

“No! No. You have a boyfriend AND a girlfriend and you are getting _regularly_ laid. This your getting-laid tax. You have to listen to me complain about how much I’m _not_ getting laid by my beautiful, much older boyfriend.” Stiles crossed his arms grumpily. Scott grimaced. “He probably has an amazing dick. I’ve never even seen it. Did you know that? We’re _soulmates_ and I’ve never even _seen it.”_

Scott buried his face in his hands.

“Shouldn’t this be something you talk about, you know, with _him?”_ Scott suggested.

“I already did. It’s what led to this current disgraceful state of being. Un-fucked and un-fucking.”

Scott groaned and covered his ears.

“You’re basically my _brother_ , Stiles!”

“He’s probably really good at using his dick too,” Stiles continued, ignoring Scott. “Like, olympic level dick use. He probably knows dick tricks I’ve never even heard of.”

“Dick tricks,” Scott echoed, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Look, when I said talk, I didn’t just mean like relationship talk. I meant _talk,”_ he said meaningfully.

Stiles looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“Like when Allison had to go back to France for Christmas for two weeks? Isaac and I talked with her everyday. Alone. In our bedrooms.”

Stiles’ eyes widened.

“Oh my God, you’re a genius. Leave immediately.”

Scott didn’t need to be told twice.

As soon as he was gone, Stiles locked his bedroom door and grabbed his phone. He laid down on his bed and got comfy, and then called Peter.

“Hello Stiles,” he answered, amused. “Couldn’t be bothered to come up the stairs and find me?”

“I would love to do what I have planned in person, but we have another 11 and a half months until that’s legal.”

There was a pause.

“... and what exactly do you have planned?”

“I want you to tell me about all of your dick tricks.”

“My _what?”_

“Tell me what you’d do if you could come down stairs right now,” Stiles clarified. “What you _are_ going to do to me this time next year.”

Stiles heard a heavy breath over the line, and then a soft click in the background as Peter locked his own door.

“I don’t think phone sex actually falls under some legal grey-area, Stiles,” he said, even as he sat back down in his office chair and rubbed his cock through his pants. “Pretty sure it’s still illegal.”

“Couldn’t we just look at it like jaywalking?” Stiles said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Like, yeah, technically illegal, but it doesn’t actually hurt anyone under these circumstances.” There was a pause on both their ends. “Please, Peter?”

Peter blew out a breath. Stiles heard the button on his jeans pop and grinned excitedly.

“Are you lying down? On your bed?” he asked.

“Yes,” Stiles said breathlessly.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes.”

“Take your shirt off,” he ordered. “Unzip your jeans, but leave them on, and put me on speakerphone.”

Stiles hurried to comply. As soon as Peter heard him settle, he continued.

“I’d kiss you first. I’d take my time. I imagine you’ve always been in a rush before, yes?”

Stiles hummed affirmatively, imagining the familiar feeling of Peter’s lips and tongue.

“There’s a place for hard and fast, but that’s not what I’d do this time. I’d start with your lips, and my hands would come next. All over your body. Up your ribs,” Stiles lifted his own hand to trace the path as Peter dictated, “across your chest, to your nipples. Are your nipples hard, Stiles?” he asked teasingly. “Will you touch them for me?”

Stiles hummed in agreement and brushed his fingers across his pebbled nipples. He pinched them a little, making himself gasp.

“What did you do, baby?”

“I pinched them,” he answered. “I kinda like… teeth and stuff on them.” Peter groaned, and Stiles heard the sound of a zipper through the phone.

“God you’re perfect for me. Pinch them as much as you like, alright? If I were there, I’d want to see them red and puffy.”

Stiles happily did so, his cock growing harder in his jeans.

“What else would you do if you were here?” he pleaded Peter to tell him.

“I’d kiss every inch of your body. I’d commit every single part of you to memory. Your chest, your arms, your stomach- no part of you would go without. When I reached your waistband, I’d ease it down so I could kiss the dip of your hip bones. Can you tug your jeans down sweetheart? Jeans and underwear, low enough that you’re not restricted.”

Stiles tucked his thumbs into the material and pulled them both down at once, cock springing free.

“Run your fingers down the slope of your hips, baby, but don’t touch yourself.”

Stiles let out a tiny involuntary whine, but did as Peter asked.

“If I were there you’d feel my breath on your skin, my hands caressing you, my lips kissing you.”

“Peter,” Stiles breathed out heavily. “Peter, I need-”

“I know baby, I know. Get your lube.”

Stiles reached over and got the bottle out of his nightstand, kicking his jeans off all the way in preparation for what was coming next.

“If I were there, I’d open myself up for you-”

Stiles’ fantasy screeched to a confused halt.

“Wait, what?”

Peter paused.

“... I’d finger myself, and you’d watch,” Peter said, the hint of a question in his voice. “I just always assumed that for your first time with a man, you’d want to top.”

“What if I want to bottom?” Stiles asked, going up on his elbows, honestly surprised at Peter’s assumption. “I mean, you’re right, my only actual experience with guys is handjobs, but like. I have a dildo. I use it. A lot.”

“... so do I.”

“Oh my god, how can we be soulmates if we’re both bottoms?” Stiles exclaimed, genuinely worried.

“It’s not as if I _never_ top, Stiles,” Peter said, exasperated. “I’m versatile with a slight preference for bottoming. And technically, you’ve never actually tried it. You may turn out to have completely different preferences than you expect, and even if you don’t, it’ll be fine. There’s more to sex than anal.”

Stiles blew out a breath. Peter was right.

“Yeah, okay.” There was a pause.

“Do you want to stop?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“Oh God no! Keep going like you planned, I’ll top, it’ll be good.”

“Technically no one is actually topping, Stiles-”

“Don’t break the phone sex fourth wall,” Stiles scolded. “I wanna get back into it. Go back to fingering yourself.

Peter laughed quietly before continuing.

“If I were there, I’d finger myself so you could watch. You could put your hands on me and help, if you wanted.”

Stiles’ breathing immediately picked up again, dick hardening and pupils dilating as he threw himself into the idea.

“Yeah, I’d want to touch you. I’d want to rim you.” Stiles heard a sharp intake of breath over the phone. “Obviously I’ve never tried it, but- I think I’d like it. Licking into you.” Peter moaned, and Stiles felt a heady sense of power.

“Get the lube on your cock and touch yourself,” Peter demanded hoarsely. “I’d lay you out flat on your bed, just like you are now, before sinking down on your cock.” Stiles moaned and gripped himself tightly, just how he imagined it would feel to be surrounded by Peter.

“I’d rock slowly at first,” he murmured, and Stiles could just barely hear the sound of skin moving on skin over the phone. “Leaning a little on your chest when I start to move faster. _Stiles_ ,” he breathed out.

“I’d fuck up into you,” Stiles said, breathing hard and moving his hand faster. “Filling you up, holding on to you.” He was panting now. “God, Peter, let me fill you up. Let me come in you.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed fervently, “yes, yes, baby, come, come in me, I want to hear it-”

A breath punched out of Stiles as he came, a similar sound coming from Peter a moment later. He tugged his cock a few more times as he rode out the orgasm, pushing himself to the sharp edge of pleasure before letting his hand fall.

Peter and Stiles panted over the phone, getting their bearings back.

Stiles suddenly felt painfully alone.

“We should have set ground rules before we did this,” Peter said quietly.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed with a sigh.

“I want- I _need_ to come down there, Stiles, but I can’t. If I come down-”

“Yeah,” Stiles repeated. With all the smells and heightened emotions, there was no way either of them would hold on to their willpower. “I know. I know. I wish-” He sighed again. Post-orgasm clarity was the worst. “But this was good, right? We’re not breaking the rules. At most it’s a hairline fracture of the rules. We can do it again? You would feel okay with that?”

Peter hesitated and Stiles bit his lip, hopeful.

“Yes, I think we can do that.”

Stiles breathed out in relief.

“Okay. Once a month. What about once a month? We’ll call it date night and tell everyone to stay the hell away from our rooms.”

“And we can’t meet in either of our bedrooms afterward. Only group spaces in the house,” Peter suggested. “And showers first.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in the living room in ten minutes?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Stiles ended the call and stretched, feeling the most relaxed he’d been in eight months. Phone sex wasn’t a perfect solution, but for the first time in a while he thought he might actually survive the next year.

Scott deserved a thank you cake.

* * *

Stiles’ loud days had disappeared again after Peter returned, but there were still times when Stiles sought him out specifically for the quiet.

Feeling a little battered, a little numb, just a little…

Peter took one look at Stiles toward the end of the school year and said, “Come on, sweetheart.” He grabbed his hand and dropped off Stiles’ backpack in his room before dragging him up to Peter’s office. He kicked his floor cushions into an approximation of comfort and then flopped down, pulling Stiles after him.

Stiles let himself be moved so that he lay with his face pressed to Peter’s chest, one of Peter’s hands rubbing up and down his back comfortingly while the other held his phone so he could read.

Stiles just let the quiet flow over him, one hand lying next to his face, swirling patterns into Peter’s shirt.

His thoughts began to wander eventually.

“What were you doing?” he mumbled into Peter’s chest.

“Looking into the Farland pack’s gnome problem. They’ve started digging up the gardens of everyone in their village and they’re suspiciously well-organized.”

So, a normal job for Peter then. Peter was good at what he did, solving supernatural problems from a distance, making contacts when he couldn’t.

“What am I gonna be when I grow up?” Stiles wondered out loud.

“Sexy,” Peter answered promptly. Stiles snorted.

“I hear that only pays well if you move to LA, and honestly that sounds terrible for an empath.” He went quiet for another moment. “I start my senior year in three months and I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”

It was the first time Stiles had actually said it out loud. His dad acted like his future university acceptance was a given, and Talia and Joseph had made it clear that they would help him pay for tuition.

“A four year college isn’t for everyone,” Peter said. “And completely unnecessary for some careers. What do you want to do?”

Stiles considered, feeling more free to think about options he hadn’t before, but still the only things he knew he wanted to do were-

“Draw. Be near you.”

Peter’s heart swelled a little.

“That one’s a given, darling. I can work from anywhere, and you’re not getting rid of me. What about your drawing? You enjoy it, yes, but how would you feel about turning into something you _have_ to do to earn a living?”

Stiles shrugged, brushing his shoulder up against Peter’s side, and shoved his hand up his shirt for skin to skin comfort.

“I dunno. I just-” he sighed. “Scott’s going to trade school. He’s gonna be a vet tech. Allison says she wants to get a business degree and open an archery range for kids. Lydia’s going to fix climate change. Cora says she’s gonna be her trophy wife, but she’s been looking at how to get a job with the national park service. Isaac already helps Chris sell his guns. But I have no idea.”

Peter kissed the top of his head.

“You don’t need to know right now. If you still have no clue by admissions time, then you can apply to the community college to work on generals. Most people change careers at least once or twice, Stiles. Maybe you’ll do art, maybe you’ll sell shoes, maybe you’ll use art to sell shoes. I’ll be there to support you regardless.”

“... Art and shoes are my only options?”

“Well, there’s always supernatural specialization, but what kind of idiot does that.”

Stiles laughed again, feeling a little better. He snuggled closer and Peter kissed the top of his head again.

* * *

Stiles experienced empathy of other people’s lust in a way that was distinctly _other_ from his own. It didn’t affect him in any way except informatively. If he got a boner everytime someone around him was horny then he would have massive circulation problems, so luckily it just didn’t work that way.

 _Except,_ it turned out, when he could feel lust from Peter and knew it was because of him.

Most of the time, Stiles still couldn’t feel much of anything from Peter. He caught occasional waves of love and adoration, moments of total peace when the entire pack was in the house; less frequently he caught moments of frustration as Peter dealt with picky clients.

The newest, and abruptly most common addition to the rotation, was pure, unadulterated lust.

Stiles was _thrilled._

With Heather and Jackson, feeling his partner’s lust was only a turn on in that it told him he was doing the right things and pleasing his partner. With Peter it was another beast entirely.

It was like the placement of the final puzzle piece in their empathic relationship. Getting whispers of the love, delight, and peaceful calm he gave Peter was wonderful, but when there was an absolutely filthy wave of desire? Stiles felt wanted in a way he’d never felt before.

Who would blame him for encouraging it a little?

Hot summer air breezed lightly through the kitchen, fluttering across the sweaty skin bared by his clothing. He reached up into an upper cabinet, completely aware of how his shirt rode up to reveal the dip of his spine. His shorts were cut high and slung low, his lower back and thighs directly in Peter’s eyeline.

Peter sat at the kitchen table, staring, mouth slightly open as his gums itched to drop his fangs. He watched Stiles’ hips sway a little as he searched the top shelf for something. It was hypnotic. Peter imagined running his tongue over the skin on either side of his spine, working in the same rhythm, maybe dipping lower-

Wait. What _was_ Stiles looking for?

Peter suddenly caught the sly look Stiles was throwing over his shoulder, clearly delighted with the success of his little tactic. Peter tried to smother his own grin, getting up to stalk forward, trapping him against the counter with both hands on either side of him.

“It’s not nice to tease, darling,” he rumbled, dipping his head down to nip at Stiles’ throat. Stiles wiggled to turn himself around so he could wrap his arms behind Peter’s neck and bare his throat for easier access.

“It’s not teasing if I plan to follow through,” he murmured back as Peter slipped his hands up Stiles’ shirt.

“Cut that shit out,” Savage Grandma said serenely as she entered the kitchen, startling Peter and Stiles apart. “I need the short half of the murder husbands.”

“I am _barely_ half an inch shorter now!” Stiles protested, grumpy as Peter slid his hands out from underneath Stiles’ shirt. He watched morosely as Peter pulled away.

Grandma waved a hand dismissively.

“Bill and Phil are getting a new sign made for the shop. Will you help them with a design?”

Stiles’ eyes immediately took an interested gleam, and Peter knew he’d lost any chance of recapturing his empath. He leaned in to kiss him on the temple, and then took his things back to his office. Stiles was already deep in conversation with Grandma.

Throughout July, everyone in the pack found variations of the “Wet Your Plants” logo scattered around the house. Cora’s personal favorite was the one with a golden arc descending onto a tulip, but no one agreed with her.

By the beginning of August however, Bill, Phil, and Stiles all agreed on a design and submitted it to the sign makers. Two weeks later they hung it on the storefront.

Stiles stood in awe as his own artwork looked back at him. It was simple, true. Nothing like the abstract projects he could spend hours getting lost in, adjusting the outcome to suit his mood. This had been both more difficult and differently satisfying.

He turned to look at Peter.

“I know what I want to be when I grow up,” he said decisively.

“Still sexy, I hope.”

“I’m going to do this. Graphic design. That’s what I’m going to go to school for.”

Peter smiled at him with a huge grin.

“You’ll be incredible,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

Stiles applied to schools that fall, and tried not to despair at how slowly time moved. Now that he’d decided on his future, he was ready for it to start. Ready to be done with high school, ready experience new things-

Ready to fucking finally have sex with Peter.

Logically, he knew that there were bigger problems in the world. Hell, Stiles had bigger problems personally. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like this was the hardest thing anyone had ever had to suffer, and _yes_ that was including Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane and _yes_ the pun was intended. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that Peter was suffering right alongside him. Misery loves company, and so do blue balls.  

The closest either of them came to breaking was a “date night” when they’d been alone in the house for once. They met in the living room afterward, as had become routine- except no one else was there to stop them from getting started again this time.

Stiles lay under Peter on the couch, moaning at the feel of Peter’s teeth on his neck, grinding up shamelessly and pulling him down closer, God, he was _never close enough-_

A shock of cold made his eyes fly open, fingers digging harder into Peter even as he was ripped away. There was a moment of intense confusion, but then he saw Cora standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the living room.

Holding the spray hose from the kitchen sink.

Peter’s back was soaking wet.

He was also in beta shift, growling at her in a way that probably would have terrified any other person. Cora, however, looked utterly unimpressed.

“If you guys fuck now, four months away from Stiles’ 18th birthday, not only will John probably actually have to arrest you, but also everyone in the family will make fun of you forever.”

Stiles knew she was right, but he didn’t stop Peter from tackling her either.

So they waited. They kissed, they snuggled, they jerked off to whispered confessions of what they wanted to do to each other- and they waited.

Until April 1st.

“Pack a bag, I bribed Joseph into calling you out of school for the next three days,” Peter announced after dinner the day before Stiles’ 18th birthday.

“Where are we going?”

Peter smiled smugly.

“Penthouse suite of the Beacon Landing. We’re going to check in early, and exactly at midnight I’m going to fuck you through the mattress. Hurry up though, we need to get out of here before anyone notices we’re leaving.”

Stiles immediately started throwing things into a bag. It wasn’t until he was tugging the zipper closed that it occurred to him-

“I swear to God if this is an April Fool’s joke, I’m gonna stab you,” he threatened. “You cannot promise me sex and then back out.”

“Stiles, do you really think it would be any less of a punishment for me?” Peter asked, exasperated as he took the bag and started down the hallway.

As soon as they hit the living room, confetti blew at them from both sides and party horns screeched in their ears.

Cora’s messy scrawl splayed across a banner that said “Congrats On The Sex” in ballpoint pen. Bill, Phil, and Lila were all clapping. Cindy had Darla on her shoulders, hands in the air, cheering, while Joseph and Grandma whistled louder than any indoor space could gracefully handle. Stiles stood stunned for a moment, but Peter tugged him along, ducking his head to get through the multicolored paper that was still raining down.

Talia met them at the door with a resigned look on her face. She stuck a finger in both their faces.

“Do _not_ get naked until it’s midnight, do you understand me?” She gave them one more hard look, and then opened the door for them, shooing them through.

Stiles glanced back just once, seeing the entire family silhouetted from the doorway. Talia still stood there, but a crooked smile graced her face now as she waved at them.

He breathed a sigh of relief as they started down the long drive, and relaxed into his seat.

It was over. The waiting was done.

Almost.

By the time they arrived, he was nearly vibrating with impatience. It took every ounce of control not to fidget through the entire check-in, and by the time they reached their room, that control had reached its limit.

Stiles hurled his bag in a vague, probably bed-wise direction without actually looking, and then grabbed onto Peter, shoving his fingers into his hair and bringing their mouths together. He was almost frantic, unwilling to stop kissing but also needing to ask-

“We’re not,” he said with his lips pressed to Peter’s, “actually,” he spoke through the teeth he had set to his throat, “going to wait,” he managed while shoving his hands down the back of Peter’s pants, “until midnight are we?”

“Absolutely not,” Peter said, getting his own hands up Stiles’ shirt to rub up across his ribs.

Stiles relaxed at that, finally managing to slow down a little. He ceded the pace to Peter, who slowed them even further.

“Do you want to shower?” he asked, pressing kisses up the side of Stiles’ throat as his hands slid around to the small of his back.

Stiles hummed a non-answer, lost in the feeling of Peter’s lips for a moment before finally latching on to the question.

“I showered before dinner. I was going to ride my vibrator and think about tomorrow once everyone was in bed.”

Peter groaned, gripping on to Stiles’ ass and lifting him up.

Delighted as he always was when Peter carried him around, Stiles kissed him through a grin as they blindly walked toward the bed.

Once they were there, Stiles wiggled his hips until Peter let him down, and then rolled them some more just because he could.

Peter was busy getting his scent all over Stiles, combing his fingers through his hair and touching every bit of skin he could get to when Stiles reached for the button of his pants. The zipper of his fly was all the way down, Stiles’ hand clearly on a mission, by the time Peter’s rational mind caught up.

“Wait, wait,” he said even as his hips canted forward toward Stiles’ hand. “We need- things. I was- God, I had _plans._ We need lube. Lube first.”

Stiles reluctantly pulled his hand back and looked around for their bags, which had actually ended up next to the balcony door and the bathroom. He dashed over and crammed his arm into the bag, wildly searching. He pulled the bottle out a second later and hopped back over to Peter, pushing him backwards onto the bed.

He tossed the lube up towards the pillows and then climbed over Peter, straddling his waist and leaning down to kiss him. Peter’s hands went to Stiles’ sides, gripping him there and grinding up a little. Stiles moaned into Peter’s mouth before pulling away to tear his shirt off over his head. He urgently encouraged Peter to do the same, scooting back so that he’d have room. No sooner than his shirt was off than Stiles’ hands were right back at his waistband, pulling. Peter obligingly lifted his hips, and his pants and boxers came off in one swoop. Stiles tossed them over his shoulder, and then paused for the first time since getting into the room.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said in awe.

Peter was looking right back, taking in the muscles just beneath Stiles’ pale, mole dotted skin.

“I don’t have the words,” he said, “to describe just how gorgeous you are.” Stiles could feel a whisper of just how fervently he meant that, and it brought a flush of pink to the surface of his skin.

The canvas was simply too enticing for Peter. He leaned forward, mouth to Stiles’ chest, sucking and marking him up as he made his way to Stiles’ nipple. Once there, he flicked it with his tongue before tugging it with his teeth a little, pulling a gasp and a moan from Stiles.

Stiles brought his hands around Peter’s head, holding him there. Every touch, every scrape, and every brush went straight to his cock, which he suddenly realized was still trapped in his pants.

Peter seemed to realize that at the same time, because a second later his claws were ripping down the sides of his jeans, tearing them off.

Stiles looked at the scraps of fabric in shock.

“Okay, that was extremely sexy, just this once,” he said. “But as much as I would love to be one hundred percent pantsless, you can’t do that every time we have sex.”

“You could just spend all your time alone with me,” Peter rumbled out, running his hands up Stiles’ thighs slowly. “Naked, nothing but sex and skin. You’d never need clothes again.”

Stiles moaned again, and couldn’t quite gather the reasons that idea wasn’t practical.

Peter suddenly lifted Stiles up again, bringing him into his lap. They sat chest to chest, Stiles’ legs straddling him. It wasn’t long before Stiles was rocking down, seeking out any friction he could get.

His hand drifted toward Peter’s cock, fingertips brushing over the uncut head. Peter shuddered, whining a little in the back of his throat as he captured Stiles lips. Stiles grinned and gripped him more firmly, giving a solid stroke as he licked into Peter’s mouth.

Peter’s hands began sliding down Stiles’ hips, toward the roundness of his ass. He dug his fingers in a little, wanting a solid _feel_ to what he’d been staring at for months. Stiles pushed back into the touch, continuing the slow jerk of his hand on Peter’s cock, and made an encouraging sound.

Peter removed his lips from Stiles’ just long enough to find the lube and grab it. A few distracted moments later, the fingers of one hand were covered and headed back toward Stiles’ ass.

Stiles moaned as he felt one pointer finger circle his rim and begin to push in a little bit at a time. He leaned his forehead to Peter’s, panting.

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me on purpose, or trying to go slow, or what, but I usually start with two. Three if I’m feeling it.”

“Always so impatient,” Peter murmured back.

“Like you have room to talk,” Stiles said, voice catching as ground down, trying to get more of Peter’s finger inside himself. Peter just grinned and brought a second finger to tease at the edge.

It wasn’t long before Stiles was riding his fingers, getting a little lost in the sensation of Peter brushing across his prostate on alternate strokes. He felt around the mattress and found the lube where Peter had left it. Taking a moment to collect his focus away from the incredible artistry being performed in his ass, he coated Peter’s cock, and then pushed at his chest a little. As soon as Stiles had enough room to work with, he took Peter’s cock in hand and slid down on it in one movement.

The sound of breathing filled the otherwise silent room, only broken by the moan Peter made when Stiles clenched down a little. Peter’s lust, which had been hovering on the outside of his attention since the beginning of the night, suddenly pierced into Stiles. He gasped, feeling the desire like a jolt of electricity in the pit of his stomach.

He began by rocking a little, quickly picking up to a demanding pace as his own pleasure was fed by Peter’s. Peter soon sat up straighter again, bringing their chests back together as closely as possible, leaving love bites from Stiles’ neck to his shoulder. His hands were on Stiles’ hips, encouraging their movement though Stiles controlled the rhythm.

It was perfect. From the slick glide out to the full slide in, the pressure of Peter’s cock was all Stiles could feel. His entire body of sensation had narrowed down to the point where he and Peter were connected, where he held Peter inside of him.

He was so full of bliss, so full of absolute rapture, that it began to overflow.

Peter could feel it. He could feel the pleasure adding to his own, twisting around him and lifting him higher. It was so completely _Stiles_ that it didn’t feel foreign to his own feelings, but rather like welcoming someone home.

Stiles stuttered and lost his rhythm when he realized what was happening, what he was _doing,_ but there was no sign of distress from Peter. Instead, they’d created a feedback loop of ravenous ecstacy together. His love for this man surged, pouring over into the link they’d created.

“Peter,” he moaned, voice guttural and overwhelmed. Peter’s own voice was stolen by the breathtaking movement of Stiles’ body, but he gripped him tighter in response, fingertips digging into his hips. Stiles moved even faster, squeezing tighter around Peter’s swollen cock until he bore down one last time, a shock of euphoria slamming into both of them as he came, pulling Peter along with him.

Their world suspended for a moment. Slick heat spilled over, onto and into them, enveloped and enveloping. The brilliant moment of orgasm held, and then gently faded into a dazed sort of float.

Eventually they ended up on their sides, Peter’s arms wrapped around Stiles and his face buried in his throat.

“We should get cleaned up,” he suggested lazily.

“How about we sleep then I blow you whenever I wake up?” Stiles suggested instead.

Peter yawned.

“You’re a cutthroat haggler. I’ll take it.”

Stiles was just beginning to doze off when the screen on Peter’s phone lit up. They both looked over.

12:00 a.m.

“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Peter said, nuzzling into his shoulder. A warm wave of affection washed over Stiles.

“Thanks babe.”

They both went quiet again, ready to sleep- and then the phone buzzed several times. They checked the screen again.

 **Message: Talia**  
_You’re officially allowed to get laid. Congratulations!_

 **Message: Mom**  
_Don’t tell Talia about the illegal sex you just had, she thinks you actually waited._

 **Message: Cora** _  
_ _r there any cheezits left or did u fking eat them all u douche_

 **Message: Joseph** _  
_ _Tell Stiles happy birthday, and that my gift is confiscating everyone’s phones for the rest of the night. Goodnight you two._

Peter huffed and chucked his phone over to the padded armchair in the corner before snuggling back down, but Stiles grinned.

He still _loved_ this whole damn family.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to miss Savage Grandma most of all.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me til the bitter end here, my dudes. This series is officially the longest thing I've ever written, can you believe I did that?? I can't believe I did that. I need a nap.


End file.
